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He glares at me. A shiver of anticipation runs down my spine.
"Abby," he growls in that velvety smooth, yet gruff baritone, "ask me in."
I do.
Of course, I do.
Could I refuse him? Of course, not.
Do Iwantto refuse him? I do.
But tell that to my body, every inch of which is fine-tuned to him, like he’s a magnet and I’m one of those poor steel pins that doesn’t stand a chance at the attraction he exudes.Ohgod, ohgod, ohgod.I need to keep my distance from him, else there’s no telling what I might end up doing. I’ll probably throw myself at him, then climb him like a tree and cling to him as I licked every inch of that luscious face of his—and the column of his throat, too—and how embarrassing would that be?
I pivot, stomp inside the apartment, and hear him follow. I slap on the lights as I march through the little living room, past the bedroom, and into the kitchen. I place my bag on the counter near the sink, then fill a glass with water from the tap and gulp it down. I turn, then yelp when I slam straight into that hard chest of his.
The rich, evocative scent of him wraps around me. His big body surrounds me. He grips my waist to steady me, and a thousand little fires ignite under my skin. The next second, he’s lowered his hands and put distance between us. I tilt my head back, and further back, taking in those chiseled features, the high cheekbones, the thin, mean upper lip, the pouty lower lip, that hooked nose, that wide forehead with that lock of hair that’s always falling over it. I sway toward him, and he smirks.
The jerkass smirks. "A little small for your tastes, isn’t this?" He glances about the space, then back at me. "You slumming it, Princess?"
"None of your business." I draw myself up to my full height and squeeze my fingers around the glass in my hand. “But you’re in now, so what do you want?"
"Don’t know, babe. I’m not far enough inside, don’t you think?"
Those fires under my skin promptly spread to my face. This is how it always is with him. He says something suggestive, and I lose my train of thinking. Which was fine when he was my brother’s best friend, the boy I had a secret crush on. The boy who was protective toward me when I was teased as ‘Thunder Thighs’ in high school. The boy who I’d later betrayed. The boy who is now a gorgeous, achingly hot man. He’s also an asshole I don’t recognize.
"I don’t know,babe.From where I am, it seems you wouldn’t know if you were in or out," I snap.
He blinks, seems taken aback for a second, then barks out a laugh. "Very good, Sparrow."
"Do. Not. Call. Me. Sparrow," I say in a low voice.
"Oh?" He tilts his head. "Does it do things to you when I do?"
I nod. "It makes me want to throw something at you."Don’t do it. Don’t do it.I toss the rest of the water in my glass at his face.
He freezes. So do I. I watch as the water drips from his nose, from his chin, onto the front of his white shirt and across his torso. I’m instantly wet—okay, more wet—and it’s nothing to do with the water that blots his lapels.
His gaze narrows and his nostrils flare. "You’ve done it now," he growls, and the sound chafes over my already stretched thin nerve-endings.
"Wh-what do you mean?" I squeak.
"You want to play, baby?"
I shake my head.
"I think you do."
He reaches out. I wince, then stare as he gently slides the glass out from between my nerveless fingers. He places it on the breakfast counter, then turns back toward me and cracks his neck.
I gulp. "Wh-what are you doing?"
"You need to pay for your impertinence," he says in a low, hard voice.
My belly flip-flops. My pussy clenches.Oh, my god.That mean edge to his voice. It’s so hot. So erotic.Why do I find that such a turn on?
"I… I didn’t do anything wrong." Sweat pools under my armpits. My mouth is so dry, my tongue is sticking to the roof. I gulp.
His lips curl. "Scared, babydoll?"
